


Only the Beginning

by redlizard_rambles



Series: Long May He Reign [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, King Alistair (Dragon Age), Ostagar (Dragon Age), speed run
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlizard_rambles/pseuds/redlizard_rambles
Summary: The beginning of the legend of the last two Wardens of Ferelden who ended the Fifth Blight.
Relationships: Male Surana & Female Cousland, Morrigan/Male Surana (Dragon Age)
Series: Long May He Reign [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940362
Kudos: 6





	1. Mad World

Livia paced anxiously in the area of the camp she deemed for herself. Aside from meals, meetings, and sometimes training with her fellows, she preferred to wander with Steel at her side. She had yet to really connect with any of her brothers or sisters in the Wardens, and the other three that Joined with her were a tight knit before she entered the picture. When one of them didn’t make it, the other two closed off even tighter. 

Duncan promised that he would be returning soon with his final recruit, and then she could finally get out of camp and into the wilds. The last two groups were taken out by more senior Wardens, despite Duncan promising to let her lead new recruits. When she accused him of keeping her away from battle because she was a Cousland, despite that she willingly gave away her name and titles, he swore the next group was hers. 

She did spend some time with the latest two recruits, while they waited for the third. Daveth was a cutpurse from Denerim, and looked vaguely familiar. He was a decent sparring partner, but talked too much and asked too many questions. 

Ser Jory was formidable in his own rights, swinging the massive great sword around with ease, though he was no Ser Gilmore, and Livia had to wonder why Jory made it and not Roderik. 

Jory also made it impossible for her to forget about home, and often found herself incredibly homesick after spending time with him. He recognized her immediately despite her wish to keep her Cousland blood a secret, and openly called her “Lady of Highever” even when she asked him to stop. 

This was one of the other reasons she stuck to her corner of camp. Loghain and Cailan were here now, and would make it impossible for her to be the Warden she wished to be while constantly seeing people of her past. 

She hoped, for the briefest of moments that Alistair was here as well. To see him, even from afar would hopefully lay to rest the emotions that always seemed ready to escape if she didn’t keep herself busy. 

Sebastian told her to “focus on herself” but her heart couldn’t let go. He wasn’t just a summer fling, or her first love, his mere presence made her feel alive and even the memories warmed her in the chilling wilds of Ostagar. 

Excitement near the kennels grabbed her attention, and she straightened up, and pulled her sword to warm up with some simple moves and shake off some of the built up nervous energy. The dogs rarely reacted unless someone new was nearby, and after several months, new faces were few and far between. 

A man in circle robes entered her space, and Livia felt like Steel when he saw a rabbit. She tried to stay focused on her exercise but found herself anxiously waiting to meet the man. 

His eyes were wide and bright, taking in the majesty of the ruins, and a shocking purple hue. Raven black hair was tucked back by braids, and his sharp tapered ears pinked from the cold wind. 

When he was only a few steps away, she sheathed her sword, trying to stay cool, despite the excitement she felt inside. 

\--

Ikal had never seen so many different people in one place together. 

Elven messengers ran, ducking between groups of people, set to their task. 

Dwarves with bulging arms swung hammers bigger than his leg, over head, slamming down on anvils creating sparks and a noise that shook his insides. 

The familiar cadence of the Chant in multiple pockets around the camp. Any feeling of an exciting adventure was quickly tapered by the reality of war. 

At least these were beasts that needed to be put down, and not more people with their own lives and families outside of the battlefield. 

Duncan had quickly left Ikal to his task, to seek a more senior warden, Livia. She would have some answers for him and then the Joining could begin. 

Ikal wasn’t super inclined for yet another ritual, having only days ago past his Harrowing. The Harrowing wasn’t particularly difficult, but he was also confident in his abilities as a Circle Mage. Here in practice, would be a different story. 

The sharp glint of silver grabbed his attention, and he chose to avoid the Templars than worry about what they were guarding. 

“Wynne?”

The older woman’s eyes lit up in surprise and pulled the young man into a hug. 

“Why are you here? I thought we travelled with all the mages the Circle was willing to spare.”

Not wanting to get into the full details, he quickly explained he was recruited into the Grey Wardens. 

Wynne knew it was more than just that, but let the young man have his privacy. His eyes jerked around the camp anxiously, similar to the paranoia he displayed when Phoebe was sent away. 

“By chance do you know where someone is? Livia? She’s a Grey Warden.”

Wynne smiled and pointed behind her. She had met the young woman a few weeks prior and saw her wander the camp with her mabari. She kept to herself, but would smile and wave to Wynne whenever she passed. 

Ikal lowered his head in thanks and hurried away, eager to get away from the larger crowds. 

Coming up the ramp, the woman in question was spinning a sword, jabbing it at imaginary enemies. 

He had never really seen someone practice with a sword; it felt too real to watch the Templars in the muddy yard outside Kinloch, knowing their swings were in preparation of removing a mage’s head from their body. 

The grace she exhibited, allowing the sword to create an extension of her own arm, Ikal felt inspired. Magic naturally was an extension of the self, not everyone could do magic and not all mages could do the same magics. Most early spells were easily done by any mage, but as they started to ramp up the complexity of spells, obvious affinity to certain schools became apparent. 

That was inevitably what proved Phoebe held the edge in their competitions. The creation school was notoriously hard to perfect, and she seemed to do it with ease. While the entropy skills were no easy feat, they still took less than creation. Ikal tried for weeks to keep up with her skills, but his magic always shifted to the other side of the coin. 

As he started up the ramp, she finished her final move and smoothly slid the sword onto her back. Pure sea green eyes shone confidently at him, giving nothing away. 

He shivered under her gaze, not really noticing the icy wind whipping through the valley. 

“You must be Duncan’s newest recruit,” she offered her hand. “I’m Livia.”


	2. Mages Just Wanna Have Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ikal and Livia meet the Witch of the Wilds. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Jowan regrets some life choices.

Morrigan always liked making an entrance. She so rarely ran into people out here, and the ones she did were usually Chasind who feared her, or Templars, who should have known to fear her. 

These soldiers, by the looks of them, came from the camp set up in the ruins of Ostagar. 

Morrigan simply watched for a time, not sure as to their purpose. It was odd to see such a small group. Even Flemeth warned her not to stray too far these days, as groups of darkspawn and blighted animals started to become a more frequent appearance. 

This group was different though. The mage, while in Chantry garb, wielded magic Morrigan didn’t think the Chantry would allow. He threw lightning with terrifying accuracy, and then harnessed the corpses depleting energy to replenish his own health. 

The other two men worked well together, the archer kept sneaking foes off the brute with the massive sword. 

The fourth person, a woman, flitted about the field with her war dog, checking in the grasses and plucking plants as if she were a trained herbalist. When the other three couldn’t keep the enemy at bay, she drew a sword and a dagger and leapt into the fray seemingly with no worries to herself, her loud and smelly dog also tearing into the beasts of the area. 

After each skirmish, the group would scavenge the fallen, and even collected blood from the fallen darkspawn. Morrigan sneered internally; surely these people were mad. 

Yet, she found them compelling and wondered if they were clever enough to find a stash of treasure long forgotten by the Chasind. She switched to a small songbird, and hovered near one of the Chasind trail markings, letting out a whistle and drawing the attention of the dog. 

Disgusted by its lack of grace, she fluttered away, and returned to her most natural form outside of human, a crow. 

The dog got its master’s attention and the woman quite cleverly and quickly found the other markings, drawing them deeper into the wilds. 

After dispatching a group of hidden genlocks, she found the cache, tucked away in an old log. Clearly the leader, she parceled out the items, and the mage was rapid to discard his Chantry robes, stuffing them into a bag, before slipping on the Chasind armor. 

It surprisingly fit him quite well, and the archer said something that made the group laugh, causing the mage to blush. 

He was quite fascinating, Morrigan mused, circling overhead. His skills of the arcane were sharp and interesting, and his face with its curved tattoos were particularly appealing. 

The group marched on, growing closer to the abandoned tower and the range of her mother’s magic. It would draw unnecessary attention unless she did something quickly. 

Morrigan could never be sure to how her mother would react to strangers in their lands, and she had no desire to deal with them personally. 

They stopped before a smashed chest, long forgotten, and shifted the pieces around as if looking for something. 

She quickly changed back behind a fallen pillar, it was now or never. 

“Well, well, what have we here?” 

Daveth stood back notching an arrow to his bow, Jory with his sword in his hand, and both of Livia’s blades at the ready. 

Ikal watched as the young woman in her, rather skimpy clothes, came down the ramp of the ruined tower. He could feel the magic around her surge and spark, and her yellow, almost cat like eyes, gave him a rush. 

“Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” She continued walking till she was in front of them, everyone seemingly stunned by her appearance. 

“What say you, hmm? Scavenger of intruder?”

“We are neither,” Livia spoke up. “The Grey Wardens once owned this tower.”

“Tis a tower no longer. I have watched your progress for sometime. ‘Where do they go,’ I wondered, ‘Why are they here?’”

“She’s a Witch of the Wild’s she is! She’ll turn us all into toads,” Daveth said, a panic creeping into his voice. 

“She does have magic, but shapeshifting is not an easy magic to project on others. Fireball? Sure. Swarm of stinging insects? Easy. But turning you into a toad is probably not worth the energy,” Ikal explained getting a strange look from his companions, while a smile played out on the stranger’s face. 

“You do not frighten like a little boy and recognize magic most have forgotten. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

“I am Ikal, and these are my companions. Ser Jory, Daveth, and Livia. It’s a pleasure,” Ikal said smoothly. 

“Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan.” 

_ Jowan _

A bead of sweat ran down his spine, he had to get away quickly. The lady of the castle was already suspicious, having caught him twice now not with her son, but near the Arl’s private office. 

The alarm was sounded, and the thunder of marching boots filled the stone halls. He was too late. 

Jowan gave up quietly, not wanting a repeat of last time. The look on Ikal’s face as he was thrown across the room, and Lily’s screams, rife with fear still haunted him. 

It only began as a bit of dabbling, just curious what he could do on his own. They were going to make him Tranquil, he just knew it. He hoped cozying up to Ikal, one of Irving’s star pupils would have helped. He had no chance when Phoebe was around, she watched him as if he was prey, and it worked to keep him away. 

When he escaped Kinloch Hold, that had truly been the first time he’d used such magic on a large scale, often only touching the surface of potential. 

He was found by Loghain’s men as they marched back from Ostagar, the King and Wardens, fallen. Jowan fully expected to be executed right there, but the man who spoke to him promised him freedom if he did one one thing. 

Lady Isolde was surprised that a tutor had already been sent before she even asked for one, but was so worried about Connor, she gladly accepted the mage’s help. 

By the time Eamon started falling ill, she already looked at Jowan suspiciously, and then weird things started to happen around the castle, and Jowan’s fate was sealed. 

Left on the floor in the dungeon cell, as the footsteps faded away, Jowan sighed into his knees, wishing he could just go home. 


	3. Long Live the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair receives the news from the Battle of Ostagar.

When the news reached Denerim, Alistair went numb. He waved off the messenger, Anora frozen next to him at the table where they had been enjoying lunch together. 

They had only a brief moment of letting the news settle in, when the chamberlain entered in the deep bow. 

“Your Highness, I know this news brings the country grief, but we need a king on the throne, you are next in line sire…”

“Ferelden has a queen,” Anora snapped. “Who do you think has been ruling this country all these years?”

The man cowered in his bow, bringing himself even lower to the floor.

“Yes, Your Highness, but while there is an heir of Maric alive, he has the right to the throne.”

Alistair had still not said a word, trying to process all the information being given to him. 

“Alistair?” Anora asked, her shock replaced with a mixture of anger and concern. “We don’t have to decide this right now. I can continue to rule and when or if you are ready, we can talk about it…” 

Alistair’s head swam. He lost Livia, he lost his father, and now Cailan. Alistair sat up straighter in the chair. He would not lose Ferelden. He would keep his country safe, and the first step was to take the throne and stop the darkspawn horde.

“I will take my father’s throne. What armies do we have left?”

Anora looked shocked but kept silent. The chamberlain narrowed his eyes at her and stood straight. 

“The report states that General Loghain survived the battle. We are not sure who all has been lost.”

“Find out as soon as possible and send Loghain to me the minute he returns to Denerim.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. When shall we have the coronation?”

“We wait a week, proper time of mourning for my brother. Anora and I can handle it together till then. Please inform the lords and ladies.”

The chamberlain bowed his head and backed out of the room, leaving Alistair and Anora alone again. 

Anora sat up straight and looked over at her brother-in-law. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he could handle it, but she really had been Ferelden’s ruler for the past three or so years. The people loved her, she ruled just and fair. She knew the rumors of her being barren were also circulating, which made her nervous, but based on Cailan’s extra-curricular activities, maybe the blame fell to him. Could she convince Alistair to marry her, maybe nothing would have to change. 

Alistair had quickly jumped into action, his plate pushed away and a paper and quill in front of him as he started writing. He would mourn properly later, but a King was lost in a battle, and Alistair needed to know why. If the threat was larger than anyone imagined, they would need more troops and fast, to fend it off. 

And if this was more than a large horde… Maric told his sons enough, that Alistair knew the Grey Wardens might be Ferelden’s only chance to survive. 

\-----

Loghain entered Denerim and was met by a single guard on horseback. 

“General Loghain. His Majesty requested your presence the moment you return, sir.”

His? Loghain thought. He assumed Anora would be ruling now, despite Alistair being Cailan’s brother. Ferelden had always been a bit laxer on the whole dynasty thing, and seemed to keep Theirin’s on the throne almost more so out of ceremony. The country had just been lucky that Theirins did make good rulers, for the most part. 

Loghain nodded and left his troops to Ser Cauthrien, following quickly behind the guard through the city. 

The city was still in mourning, women wailing in the streets, the Chantry bells going off nonstop, but most people seemed ready to get on with their lives. It wasn’t that the people didn’t cherish King Cailan, but there were rumors of murderous Grey Wardens, as well as a horde of darkspawn, and even that didn’t stop the laundry from needing to be done. 

After leaving the horses in the stables, Loghain was quickly escorted to the throne room, where Alistair, Anora and Mother Perpetua stood waiting. 

“Father!” Anora let out, breaking her usual composer and rushing to her father. 

He hugged her gently, still in his full armor and kissed her forehead.

“How are you, my darling?”

Anora’s eyes were filled with tears and Loghain felt a pang of guilt. 

“That was a stupid question. I am sorry about Cailan,” he corrected. 

“General Loghain,” Mother Perpetua gestured with her hand and Loghain and Anora parted, walking back towards Alistair. 

Alistair kneeled down, and the chamberlain came forward with a simple golden crown, handing it to the Mother.

She held the crown in her left hand and waved her right over his head announcing to the rather small crowd, “In the name of the Maker and the Chant of Light, rise King Alistair Therin of Ferelden. Long may he reign!” and placed the crown on his head. 

Alistair rose, the weight of the crown obvious to him, despite how light the metal was. 

He turned to Anora and Loghain, both wearing similar strained smiles on their faces, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he made the right choice. He could have let Anora rule, could have stayed to the side. But there was a feeling that this was how it was supposed to be. That Maric and Cailan would have wanted this. 

He pulled himself up straighter, a slouching king wouldn’t do. 

It had only been six days since Ostagar was lost and Alistair had work to do. He smiled at Loghain and Anora and left the room, the chamberlain and Tomas quickly following behind. 

Loghian gritted his teeth, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he tried to make sense how quickly this all fell apart. 

“Father?” Anora asked carefully. She had seen her father get this angry before. Often something foolish Cailan said or did, but this felt different. Her father felt different. She wasn’t sure what happened in Ostagar, and wasn’t sure if she wanted the whole truth. Should she accept that her father led to her husband’s death…or to believe that he truly did what he could to save as many as possible. 

“Anora,” Loghain began, trying to calm his voice, “Have you considered marrying Alistair? He would be foolish to ignore your insight, having run the country for the past few years.”

“It has crossed my mind…” Anora began, unsure where to go next. She had the same idea, but after seeing how quickly Alistair jumped to action didn’t think the suggestion would be well received. 

“Then take care of it,” Loghain said stiffly, turning away from his daughter and walking to the door. 

Anora stood in the now empty room, trying to hold it together just a bit longer. In less than a week she lost her husband, her throne, and possibly her father. He seemed more intense than usual and Anora could only wonder what drove him to this state. 

Even without prompting from her father, Anora needed to speak with Alistair. If nothing else she could help the transition along. 

\-----

Loghain quickly stopped in his room to change out of his armor. He had been riding in it nearly non-stop for several days and was ready for a wash and a hot meal, though that might have to wait. 

He assumed he would come home to Anora ruling fine by herself, Alistair shirking responsibility, and Loghain could act as regent to the throne. No matter what, he could not allow Orlesians into Ferelden; Wardens or not. He would rally more troops and crush the darkspawn horde now that he had a better idea of what they were up against. 

But he still had more to do. While returning from Ostagar they found a mage on the run and Loghain had plans for him, though he wasn’t sure what yet. And if Howe had done his part, the Couslands would no longer be an issue. 

The next obstacle to deal with would be Arl Eamon: Cailan’s uncle, and Rowan’s brother. He had the gall to marry an Orlesian and act like he’d done nothing wrong. A daughter of one of the occupiers no less. Loghain had met Isolde during her stay in Denerim, and she was a wretch of a woman. Entitled, vile and a bore. Redcliffe was a gate from Orlais to Ferelden and Loghain had no doubt that Eamon would gladly open the door for his bitch of a wife. 

Already Loghain was feeling spread thin. He needed Howe to come to Denerim so he had an ally close. He didn’t know who to trust. Certainly not the new king, and even his daughter gave him pause. She wrapped Cailan around her finger without even trying; the other Theirin brother should have already fallen. 

There wasn’t much that could be done right now he decided. Hot bath. Hot meal. Talk with Alistair. The young man saw Loghain as a father figure, and unlike Cailan, had often given his ear to Loghain’s suggestions. Choosing a sword and shield over a large broad sword had been a small sign but one nonetheless. Alistair was cautious, ready to defend before going on the offensive. Cailan was all glory and pomp. It really was a shame he couldn’t be saved, but Loghain had been called to a higher power and not even Maric’s sons could stop him from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really hoping by now to have the next few chapters written, and I do not. I've been working on several other stories, including a super awesome collaboration with a very dear friend, and a (I think) super cool prompt. I will really try to not fall behind, but I hope you stick around if I do!


	4. Evening Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pit stop after Lothering

The sun burned orange as it started to sink behind the line of trees. Livia exhaled deeply, her eyes desperately wanting to close. 

By her estimate she had been awake for over forty hours now. The last restful moment was after the pain of the darkspawn arrows finally overwhelmed her senses before Flemeth saved her and Ikal from the Tower of Ishal. 

"I just wanted to thank you again," their newest member reiterated.

Livia smiled, albeit a bit strained. The red-headed chantry sister had proved well in a fight, and quickened the acquisition of the Quanri’s cage key, but all her talk of the Maker made Livia weary. 

Leliana seemed sure enough of her purpose, staying silent when reasoning with the mob of villagers failed and turned into a bloodbath. She was quick to draw her blade and slit their throats.

The Qunari was also eerily quiet, smashing his fists down on the fragile human’s skulls before acquiring a hammer from a fallen blacksmith. 

_ Damn, _ Livia cursed to herself. Lothering was barely functional, much less able to provide a blacksmith. Her armor was once again covered in bandit blood and darkspawn ichor. 

They sold most of the armor and weapons they gathered when they entered the village and now needed to find more. For a petite woman and a hulking giant. 

And Loghain was searching for them. Possibly searching for her specifically. She was disappointed when Duncan first said they didn't have any extra Warden armor at Ostagar, but now relief washed over her that the trademark blue and silver wouldn't give her and Ikal away. It did make her wonder if that's why Duncan never seemed to wear the uniform himself. 

Her heart squeezed tightly. She deeply missed her mentor of the past year, but knew there was nothing she could have done. Were the treaties not so urgent, she would have loved to return home, to feel her father’s warm hug, and have her mother whisper “ _ I love you to pieces _ ” in her ear. To show little Oren her Warden blade, and drink with Fergus on the cliffs overlooking the ocean till the sun set and rose again.

A gentle touch on her shoulder drew her back to the present. 

“We should find a place to camp,” Ikal suggested. 

Livia nodded slowly, the exhaustion slamming into her again. 

She felt weak, letting her body take over like this. Ikal must have been exhausted too, yet he didn’t seem to be falling apart like she was. 

Ikal looked worriedly at Livia, with her feet dragging along the dirt road and eyes barely staying open. Any uncovered skin was covered in dirt and blood, and he couldn’t even be sure if she was injured or not. 

Andy, his mabari, was running excitedly with Steel, the two having become fast friends. 

“Where did the name Andy come from?” Leliana asked. 

“It’s a bit of a story,” Ikal murmured, remembering the scoffing from Morrigan when Andy first found them on the road before the Imperial Highway. 

“Oh!” Leliana exclaimed. “I just love stories!”

Ikal blushed, appreciating her enthusiasm. She reminded him of Phoebe, when she was younger, before the competing turned from a game to survival. 

“I’m not sure where I am from, and really respect the Dalish. The elvenhan goddess of hunt is Andruil. But I was raised in the Circle and have read some fascinating stories of Andraste as well. So Andy seemed appropriate.”

Leliana squealed, and Andy paused ahead and let out a soft wulf. Steel took this momentary distraction and slammed into her, the two dogs rolling in the road kicking up dust. 

Morrigan coughed dramatically, waving her hand in front of her face. 

Livia pinched the bridge of her nose. This was all too much. The whole world was resting on her shoulders and she was stuck with children. 

“There,” the mostly silent companion stopped, pointing off the road a bit. “We can camp there.”

Nodding gratefully, Livia whistled to Steel who pulled away from Andy and ran ahead to scout. He came back with a few sticks in his mouth, and led the group to a clearing in the woods. 

This would do for now. 

Without any commentary the group set to work, building a small fire and setting up their bedrolls. They would need tents soon as well, it was almost a miracle the weather had stayed so mild for them in the first place. 

“I’ll take first watch,” Sten announced, having no argument from the Wardens. 

Ikal was quickly in his bedroll and fast asleep, Morrigan not far behind while Leliana tidied about the camp collecting more wood. 

Livia stripped down to her small clothes, her skin dry and itchy from the dirt and blood, choosing drinking water over comfort, she rubbed off what she could with a dry rag before sliding into the bedroll, watching the flames dance in the imposing darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one! That took 100 years to write! 
> 
> Happy New Year everyone! 
> 
> Sorry it's been so long. I just 100% roadblocked by the chapter and have rewritten it a half dozen times with no avail. This isn't my favorite thing I've written, but I think a nice (enough) bridge from Ostagar to skipping over Lothering. We all know Lothering. Stuff happens, we gather companions. 
> 
> An Alistair chapter next, then Ikal finally gets to go home. It's fun. 
> 
> No, wait. it's the Circle and the Fade. It's brutal. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking around!


	5. Your Majesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair steps up to being king. Loghain doesn't much care for it.

“General Loghain, thank you for joining me today,” Alistair started, gesturing to the Teryn to begin walking. 

It was a cool autumn day, the leaves were starting to turn and the sun was setting earlier every day. They strolled through the garden, the same garden where Livia left him just over three years prior, but there was no time to visit ghosts. 

“I wanted to check in with you on the plan to support the remaining Wardens from Ostagar. I have heard that two have made it to Kinloch Hold where they are gathering allies.”

Loghain kept his face still as stone to not give away his frustration. So it was true. The two wardens that were sent to the Tower of Ishal somehow made it out alive. He would have words with Commander Desmond on his return. 

“Your majesty,” was all Loghain could muster. 

“I have also received word that Rendon Howe has taken command of Castle Cousland. By chance do you have any information on why Bryce Cousland is no longer in charge of Highever?”

Loghain bit back a curse. Dammit. How had he learned of this so quickly? Howe was supposed to be more discreet. 

“I believe, sire, that an outbreak of a sickness has rendered the Lord Cousland and his Lady ill and Rendon Howe is there to help since he is the closest Lord. His son Fergus was at Ostagar and his location is currently unknown.”

“And the Lady Livia Cousland?” 

“Her whereabouts are also unknown,” Loghain said. That much was true. Howe had sent word that after Fergus left and the castle was taken, they had been unable to find the second Cousland heir. Her room had been empty and looked to have been for awhile. 

“I see. Well then, please send a small guard to Castle Highever and see if Howe or the Couslands need any aid.”

Loghain paused, letting Alistair move a few steps ahead, relief washing his face. 

“And please send word to my Uncle Eamon to send Bann Tegan to take over for Howe at his earliest convenience.”

“Your majesty?” Loghain asked. 

“While I appreciate Howe stepping in, the Couslands are the next closest to the throne and I would like a Guerrin to watch the lands until Lord Bryce is fully back to health. “

Logahin gritted his teeth. 

“Of course sire. If that is all?”

Alistair waved a hand, his back still turned to the general. “Of course General, you are dismissed.”

Alistair waited several long moments before turning back around and doubled over, holding a pillar for support while he inhaled deeply. 

He did it! He sounded like a king and everything! His hands were shaking from excitement and nervousness, he really didn’t think he would be able to pull it off, but Ferelden needed a leader and he wouldn’t sit by and do nothing. Alistair watched the way Loghain talked to Cailan, too familiar and lacking respect. That wasn’t going to be him. 

\--

This was going to be harder than he thought. 

For as little faith as Loghain had in Cailan in the previous few months, Alistair had stayed firmly off the general’s radar. He saw no threat from Alistair’s rule, and figured the young man would be easy to sway towards Loghain’s thoughts and Ferelden would stay safe. 

Unfortunately, the newly crowned king seemed eager to do things his way and quickly shot down Loghain's suggestion for Alistair and Anora to wed. He even had the gall to chuckle at the thought!

No, Alistair was going to require a less direct approach. Loghain wasn’t sure what changed in the young man, he had never shown much interest in ruling before, but once Alistair heard of Cailan’s death and that he would be king, the young man changed into something much harder and less malleable. Gone was the jovial jokester, and while Loghain certainly couldn’t complain of a strong leader on the throne of Ferelden, the new king shared in his brother’s belief that the Grey Wardens were heroes, and not a stepping stone to Orlais trying to take back the country again. 

Unfortunately Logahin did not have many he could trust. Even Anora these days seemed less inclined to heed her father’s words, and allies seemed to be rapidly disappearing into sides of a civil war that seemed to be brewing. 

Despite being a renowned strategist, Loghain was stymied that he was being out maneuvered by Alistair Theirin of all people. Maybe there was more of Maric in him than Loghain had given credit for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one! But so quick this time! 
> 
> I'm kicking myself because I thought about skipping the last chapter entirely and posting this much much much sooner and didn't for.... reasons? I should have. 
> 
> Circle chapters (3 so far) are done but messy. Need some polishing. Planning right here and now to be back to posting on Saturdays? Sundays? What did I say before? Let's say WEEKEND. And hope to have the next one up in just a few days then and be back to a weekly schedule. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with Ikal and Livia!

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 has begun! My plan is to post a chapter each Saturday. Five chapters are complete, and the other eight are almost done, so there should be no delays!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!


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